


A Little Flower, A Little Blue

by laraF



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3a, AU, Adorable Assholes, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Era, I think i love that trope too much, Inspired by pictures, M/M, Masquerade, Oneshot, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Peter and Stiles are the research team, Peter as a white prince, Ridiculous, Sass, armor-wearing werewolves, how to survive Ian Bohen, it seems, ly sexy, no kidding, pfff, stiles is gorgeous, teachers can be fooled easily in Beacon Hills, with swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laraF/pseuds/laraF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a new type of ball at Beacon Hills High. The pack is masquerading around in royal costumes, Stiles gets flowers in his hair against his will, while Lydia gets swords and armor. Fitting. Peter gets into a high school again (their security seriously needs an update if every psycho uncle can just waltz in whenever they want) and he gets Stiles in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Flower, A Little Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fullmoonficlet. Prompt #184 - Royal. (Which is absolutely lovely ;D)
> 
> Still don't have a beta. Sorry!

 

 

“Please, reassure me that they’re kidding.”

  
Derek raised his eyebrows, trying to keep up a cool, unaffected facade but his sparkling eyes betrayed his amusement.

  
“You wish.”

  
Stiles grumbled some very uncomplimentary words about girls and their princess-problems and flopped down onto the spiral staircase at Derek’s loft. He tiredly rubbed his reddened eyes. He and Peter spent days with only the barest minimum of sleep pouring through all of the Hale vault’s documentaries and Peter’s personal notes. They hoped to find sufficient enough material for a self-study emissary training. They could piece together a decent contact list, stumbled upon an ancient-looking notebook full of druid-practices and some plant-encyclopedias with thick handwritten notes integrating magical knowledge between the ant-sized paragraphs. Of course Deaton outright refused to be of use and that summed up with Peter’s _mistrust_ (intense hatred) of the man crossed him out as a possible solution anyway. Stiles wasn’t sure since when they started to trust _Peter_ , mass-murderer psychopath extraordinaire but didn’t want to think about it in all honesty. He proved to be useful (brilliant actually, but his ego was big enough already), loyal (that shocked everyone except Stiles, because hello, I’m-murdering-you-because-you-burned-down-my-pack anybody? ─ should’ve been obvious), funny and cunning.

  
They always ended up together. In fights it was Stiles with his baseball bat and an always furious madman protecting his side. At research sessions they hung out at Derek’s loft at the beginning. Later they moved on to Peter’s penthouse (location only known by Stiles) and notified the pack via texts and video feeds. And now they came up with the idea of proper training following their riddance of the Alpha pack. Scott and the others still had no idea that the operation involved a lot more violence than they let out, featuring insane amounts of wolfsbane, mountain ash and calling in an old favor from one of Peter’s more ruthless acquaintances.

  
“Scott, I didn’t know you became a eunuch?” Peter stepped into the loft carrying two huge bottles of Stiles’s favorite soda. He pushed one into Stiles’s hand than sat down next to him with more grace than a movement like that necessarily required. Stiles thanked him with a bump on the shoulder. “My condolences, Allison,” he commented dryly gesturing in Scott’s direction. Scott wore way too tight crimson trousers, an old-fashioned-looking (as in centuries old) shirt with the same blinding color, soft brown leather boots and an impressive black cape. There was a golden crown perched on his head. Lydia somehow obtained actual pieces of beautifully carved light _armors_ for the boys too. With freaking swords. How will they sell that to the teachers Stiles had no idea.

  
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Lydia rolled her eyes. She looked breathtaking in her long, simple pale-green and white dress. She was the queen on Scott’s side since Allison chose to be a rebellious knight. Erica’s choice wasn’t that low-key but extremely low-cut in places and a wild deep blue with strategically placed black lace parts. She was fastening Boyd’s white armor over his matching colored tunic. Isaac preened in front of a mirror, brushing nonexistent specks of dust down from his grass-green tunic. The golden hem nicely emphasized his stylish blonde locks. Stiles had to grudgingly admit that they all looked great.

  
“Stiles,” Allison beckoned with a deceptively innocent smile.

  
“Nope. No way. Nah. You’re gonna dress me up as King Scott’s clown, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously.

  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lydia scoffed. She glanced at Peter. “You’ll be dashing, I promise.”

  
Stiles groaned miserably.

  
“Whose _fantastic_ idea was this masquerade?” Peter inquired his voice disinterested. Derek’s lips twitched. That was his uncle’s tell for ‘immensely curious’.

  
“The new headmistress’s,” Allison chirped. She was a strike contrast next to the girls’ frilly dresses in her black and brown archer suit, crossbow and all. It was a testament to the pack’s inner strength that no one got too emotional about it. Erica practically insisted on it as way of additional protection for the humans. Lydia had agreed and added with a saccharine smile directed at Peter:

  
“We all know that they let in every lunatic to that godforsaken institution.”

  
Peter’s answering smile sent chills down everyone’s spine.

  
“Stilinski, get your ass over here, or I’m gonna get it. The ball is in three hours and I have other things to do than primping you,” Lydia sniped and Stiles dragged himself over with the enthusiasm of a convict going to their execution.

 

  
*

 

The masquerade didn’t turn out to be horrible in the end. At first Stiles felt really uncomfortable. His traitorous friends told he looked absolutely gorgeous. Stiles dryly pointed out that that was his problem. He was a manly man, thank you very much. Lydia got him an all black outfit and golden armor which was fine but obscenely tight if someone asked him. (No one did.) That wasn’t all that bad but. But. There was a flower crown on his head. Flowers. Like he was some ten year old girl sitting on a grass field picking daisies. He was sure that it meant the death of his masculinity sexy black clothes or not.

  
No one recognized him at first. Then everyone wanted to dance with him, touch him, kiss him. An unsettling amount of guys too. Stiles felt the strange urge to laugh and cry at once.

  
He was in the middle of escaping an uncomfortably insistent (and drunk) lacrosse player when Peter appeared stealing everyone’s breath right out of their lungs. He wore pure white, electric blue eyes shining mesmerizingly. He confidently strolled through the crowd, kicked the lacrosse player out of his way and possessively snatched Stiles’s hand.

  
“My knight in shining armor,” Stiles said dryly as soon as his voice returned to him. “How did you get in, old man?”

  
Peter flashed him a charming smile. Several girls fainted in the background.

  
“Please don’t underestimate the power of my love.”

  
Stiles’s eyes widened. Somewhere from the crowd Lydia’s soft, all-knowing laugh sounded.

 

 

 

The End

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There are two pictures bothering me on such deep levels that they may have inspired the concept of [Peter's](https://www.instagram.com/p/BE6KECuODcw/?taken-by=ianbohen) and [Stiles's](http://imgbox.com/u6Pz1Ftd) look. A little.


End file.
